


September 2017, Toronto

by germanjj



Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germanjj/pseuds/germanjj
Summary: Sometimes love is so clear to see, visible for everyone around you, and yet you're not able to reach out and touch it, grab it, pull it towards you. It's like it's buried under clear glass.And sometimes, it's in the words you don't say after you've shared everything already at a film festival.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657570
Comments: 6
Kudos: 96





	September 2017, Toronto

My knees are weak when we leave the stage. It’s an odd feeling, mirrored by the fog in my head, a rushing in my ears as if we’d been underwater for hours, and I’m still struggling to make my way back to break the surface and inhale that sweet first saving breath. My throat is raw and my heart beating rapidly in my chest, convincing me I’m going to cry any minute now, and I wreck my brain for the reason but can’t find anything in particular. It’s nothing. But it’s all of it, too. 

I’m not alone in this. We are all quiet, subdued, as we make our way backstage. Luca is speaking in a low voice to the host, likely thanking him for the interview. There’s no reason to be this quiet, it was a good talk, a good audience. Yet no one seems willing to disturb the silence. 

I look for Timmy and watch him stop by the door, his eyes downcast, the curls of his hair covering most of his face. A curious pain is squeezing my heart looking at him and I wonder what it is. The sight of him, being so still and solemn? Or the fact that there is not much time left that I can be on a stage with him or a red carpet, will have no reason to be a part of his life other than a shared few months in Italy and will that be enough?

Timmy looks up and finds my gaze as if he’s felt me watching. His eyes are red-rimmed and I'm by his side immediately, pulling him into my arms. It’s my first response, my only response: physical closeness as the cure-all. He lets himself be hugged without resistance, exhaling heavily as the palm of my hand caresses the small of his back. 

His lips are forming an O and he’s blowing air through it carefully, like he's trying to control his breathing or trying to hold in tears himself, his jaw trembling as his arms tighten around me. 

He feels fragile in my arms, thin and breakable, as if he’s shared too much of himself on that stage, in words and more maybe even in thoughts, and now he has come away empty. All that remains is a shell of him that could crumble under the smallest of pressures. 

Luca throws us a worried glance and it twists something in my stomach; that he is standing over there, while I’m here with Timmy in my arms, showing to him and to me that while we had been one big family in Crema, Timmy and I had been another thing also. The two of us. The Americans. Maybe this is still true and still who we are now, thrust back into a world where we aren’t supposed to be _ArmieandTimmy_ but Armie. And Timothée. 

_"I struggle to marry these visions ever since."_

I swallow, my throat dry. I tighten my arms around him just as Timmy shivers against me and I worry once again that I will see tears roll down his pale cheeks, dampening my shirt. As if he has absorbed my portion and added it to his own, and by carrying both our tears had filled up too much to keep them all in. 

“Talk to me,” I say quietly, even though we are alone. The others are one room away by now, indulging in pleasantries, wrapping up this talk on a long, but ending list of movie promotion. 

Timmy shakes his head against my chest and I bury a hand in his curls, absentmindedly noticing how long his hair has gotten.

I glance down to see his face, find him worrying on his lower lip, his jaw tightening and releasing in a battle I’m not privy to but guess anyway, fearing it is the same battle I fight, over and over, only to realize that either him or me are going to turn out to be the antagonists. 

I kiss the top of his head and close my eyes, stop myself short from rocking him in my arms. The fog is still there, has grown thicker and tighter, surrounding only the two of us now and I become familiar with that cloudiness, or maybe even remember it, and wonder if I want to leave it when in here, I can have him in my arms and comfort him, and when out there, outside of the fog, would mean letting go. 

He takes another deep breath, twisting in my arms, making the decision for us. He presses a kiss to my chest, on the shirt underneath my jacket, and lets his head fall against it. When he comes away, he glances up to me briefly, an apology in his eyes as well as shame. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he mumbles, motioning towards my shirt that is now damp, not from his tears, but from where his lips have placed a kiss over my heart. 

I can’t tell if he’s apologizing for kissing me or for leaving a mark, and I don’t get to ask him when he takes a deliberate step back, bringing some distance between us.


End file.
